Lowlands Low

Our packet is the island lass
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There's a laddie howling at the main topmast
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The old man he's from Barbados
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He's got the name of Hammer Toes
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He gives is us bread as hard as brass
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Our junk's as salt as a bailer's arse
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The monkey's raised in a soldier's clothes
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Now, where he got 'em from, no one knows
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We'll haul 'em high and let 'em dry
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We'll trice 'em up into the sky
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It's up aloft that yard must go
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Up aloft from down below
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Lowlands, me boys, and up she goes
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Get changed, me boys, for your shore-going clothes
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